Chance Encounter
by Namimakura
Summary: Strange how chance encounters can change everything. Or perhaps, they only open the eyes to what's already there. Regardless, Byakuya seems destined for a change of mind. bya/ran. for feilyn's bday.


AN: Happy Birthday feilyn-chan!! tackles. yes, that's right, this one-shot is a special bday gift for the lovely feilyn. smiles. i think i rather like it. it's my fluffiest posted bit to date. though i rather rushed it a bit... frowns. so i hope they're not out of character. anyway. enjoy!

_.:Byakuya:._

It had all begun innocently enough.

He had stumbled across her, drunk on her feet, giggling madly and almost certain to pass out at any moment.

He'd been disgusted really. Her strawberry blonde hair mussed and tangled, cheeks flushed and eyes positively glazed over, she presented the image of an utterly trashed individual. Her words slurred and incoherent into the night air and for a moment, he couldn't help but stare in revulsion.

"Kush-ki-Taaiiiishooou," she sang out, slipping forward to sway dangerously far into his personal arena.

He frowned at her, unable to prevent bare politeness, despite her uninhibited display. And the fact that it was likely she would not remember the occurrence when she recovered from her unfortunate condition. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou," was his curt greeting. He prepared to step past her and continue on his way, but she swayed once more, ever closer to him.

He paused, transfixed by her utter daring and unable to stop staring at her.

She was surprisingly adept for being as completely trashed as she clearly was. She stumbled straight into him, face-first in his chest and one hand curling about the nape of his neck. And suddenly, she was lifting her face to his, pulling his face to hers and their lips to meeting.

His eyes had widened, in one of his rare and infrequent expressions of emotion, i.e. shock. His mind simply shut down, the disbelief was so great. No simpleton had ever dared….

Her lips were warm and soft and full against his, breath hot on his cheek. Her body molded itself perfectly to his, pressing closer as she exerted greater and greater force on his mouth.

Against his will, he felt the terrifying heat rushing through his veins, his own lips softening in response to hers. A lithe, pliant body was pushing against his own muscled form and it seemed as though that part of him had taken over his brain. Along with the blank shock that eemed to dull his reactions. She was nibbling on his lower lip now, enticingly, as if she hoped that would soften him further against her. The hand not curled around his neck had slipped between his captain's cloak and his shihakushou, fisting and smoothing around his chest, always in a constant state of motion.

Shocks and sparks were going off behind his eyelids as the embers slowly fanned to flame all throughout his body. He struggled to pull back his mind, to question what was happening, to remind himself that she was unlikely to even remember this in the morning, but then she shifted her whole body along his and ran her tongue seductively across his own, now nearly as pliant as hers.

His body jerked with the electricity and he was suddenly far more curious about the sensation of her tongue within his mouth than outside it. He wrapped his arms firmly around her back, crushing his lips onto hers.

Tongues tangled and she _moaned_. She was running her hands through his hair as he devoured the sheer taste of her. Bits of alcohol, flecked with strawberries and something he couldn't quite name. Barring the alcohol, she tasted of delectable ambrosia. In a strange way he could feel and sense everything around him with a crystalline clarity, marking the moment in his memory and multiplying sensations exponentially. But everything was also greyed out, so that he noticed nothing except the woman in front of him.

She writhed in his arms, a constant cocoon of continuing movement as her own body sped along currents of excitement. He trailed kisses down her jawbone, drawing another helpless moan from her quivering lips. He nibbled briefly on her earlobe before tasting the hollow of her neck, just above the shoulder. She tilted her head and spasmed slightly to pull tighter against him. He bit down on her, drinking in her scent and drowning on the feel of her skin, the flavour of her flesh.

Her breath came short and ragged as she clutched him closer and crooned his name, feather light and vaguely slurred, into his ear. He lifted his head and stared into her beautiful, flushed face, the taste of alcohol still on her breath and her hair further mussed than when she had first strode into his field of vision.

He could not say what it was that brought him back to his sanity, but there was no doubt he had it back now. He stepped away from her abruptly, restraining the urge to hiss.

The smell of her was all over his clothes.

She blinked at him, surprised by his sudden movement, eyes still vaguely glazed over. And then she tipped forward, retching vomit in the middle of the road.

Byakuya was repulsed by the entire presentation. A vice-captain should not be in a position so undignified, yet she was there willingly. And the stench of vomit was permeating the air. She groaned and rolled off to the side, passing out.

Byakuya glared at the empty streets, a boon he'd been grateful for only moments before. Now it only meant it unlikely that anyone would find her for hours yet. He growled softly, more connected to his emotions than he had been in some time.

He did not even know where the vice-captain lived! He supposed the only real option he had was to take her back to the tenth division headquarters and hope her captain found her swiftly. Heavy with resignation, he retrieved her inert body and shunpoed undetected out of sight.

_.:Byakuya:._

That had begun the whole problem. He had worried briefly over whether she would even remember the encounter, thereby feeling the need to illuminate and detail it to others, but was reassured when no rumours had surfaced within a day or so.

He had not seen her since that night. Not for an entire week.

And it seemed that what had been an accidental, drunken kiss had fixated the image of her, breathless and flushed, into his mind. His face was calm and clear, temperament even, but inside, emotions roiled as they never had. Though he held no respect for the vice-captain, he could not deny that she was beautiful.

His mind replayed the memory over and over again, constantly hearing her voice in his ear, breath against his cheek, _feeling _her…..

In sheer determination, he shut down the thought there. He dug the whole weave of thoughts involved in the encounter out of his mind and cut out all emotion associated with it, if only so he could continue functioning in his position and get any work done. It helped.

But only marginally.

He saw her approximately a week and a half later, between the captains' meeting and the vice-captains' meeting. She was smiling and laughing, apparently teasing her captain, who glared, shouting "Matsumoto!" in a relatively disgruntled tone. She merely chuckled, dancing out of his reach. The white-haired tensai strode off muttering.

She didn't even look in his direction, as if her mind was not encumbered by unwanted thoughts.

He frowned dispassionately and strolled back to his own division's headquarters.

_.:Byakuya:._

Suddenly, he was seeing her everywhere. Every errand he ran, there was a sign of her. She was trailing out of sight, entering as he was leaving, walking idly by or simply talking to someone on her way to deliver paperwork.

He had never thought too closely about her before, if he was being honest. She was a low class shinigami who had achieved vice-captain status. She may have been a skilled swordswoman, but he didn't know. He had heard vague rumours of her laziness about her offices and her tendency towards drunken partying, but knew very few details. Certainly, her uniform was a disgrace. But most of all, she simply didn't matter. He knew all those things, but they held no real importance to him.

Now, however, he clung to his knowledge. His reminders that she was unimportant. That he wasn't interested in her and she could never fit in with the Kuchiki family anyway. He had no desire to try. Beauty and kisses were not reasons to defy nobility. Indeed, they weren't even reason enough for him to try and approach her.

Because he saw her so often now, he began to notice her. He noticed everything, being a stoic and detail-oriented sort of noble. He saw the way the wind toyed with her longer bangs when she walked. The way her hips swayed in an almost rhythm that matched no discernable pattern yet still managed to maintain a distinct eroticism. He noted the low cut nature of her shihakushou and the way every man seemed to continuously _leer _at that particular area. He observed that to some she grinned back, either seductively or cheekily, and to others gave a more threatening stare while fingering the hilt of her zanpakutou in both warning and anticipation. He recognized that she was drunk frequently, regardless of time of day or duties awaiting her.

He noticed that no matter how many man stared or followed or engaged in discourse with her, he'd not seen her kiss even one. Even drunk. She had a very subtle way of watching others around her, analyzing them and able tease them into fits of frustration or actual smiles. She always walked with confidence, even if she knew she'd made a mistake. The only times she didn't smile were during missions and when no one else was watching.

He saw her spar.

She shed the silly demeanor that was her typical façade and focused completely. There was a fluid elegance to her movements that bespoke not only of experience but real skill. Her reiatsu acted as a powerful force against her enemy-her captain, in this case. The brilliant speed with which she shifted her weapon in time to perform a tricky block was impressive to behold, especially vice-captain vs. captain. _And when she released her shikai…_

It was so much like his, he felt as if it ought to be him training her. But that thought was fleeting. The second was a sneering confirmation that she used ash instead of cherry blossoms, as a peasant should.

He could not, however, deny her skill.

He found himself frowning internally, though not a muscle twitched. Renji had been the same. That such a peasant had come so far…… It meant something.

Byakuya tried not to think on it too closely.

It was difficult to ignore just how many commonalities the two shared, much though he preferred to ignore it. The way that no shinigami was ever actually aware of what one was thinking. Certainly, she was more expressive than he had ever been (or would ever become), but it was true that her thoughts were nearly completely indiscernible.

Their zanpakutou were obvious comparison points.

How quickly they'd risen within shinigami ranks.

The one that unnerved him the most however, was when he realized that they loved the same.

Without words, yet wholly and unconditionally. Once the love was given, it was not taken back, even if that soul should be cut off. She expressed affection for others, it was true, but through her facade, not her true feelings. He could only express himself (when he did, which usually, was an unnecessary feat) through his noble formality, the mask that hid his true face.

He did not admit that he was intrigued.

Intrigued with yet another Rukongai peasant, who, in all likelihood, would not even love him. It wasn't that he was stupid enough to believe he loved a woman he'd barely spoken to, only that it would be foolish to believe that she would be "interested," if only because he was curious. And, even should she be intrigued in return, he refused to subject another woman to Kuchiki family.

_Yet you continue to subject Rukia_, his traitorous thoughts whispered. _And besides, Hisana could never have been a shinigami. She had always lacked that personal strength, the _backbone_, that the blonde possessed in waves._

Byakuya shook the thoughts free and froze abruptly. She was standing there, in front of him now. _Why? _ Better yet, how had he not realized her approach?

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou." His greeting was crisply polite.

She arched a brow at him, and effectively stepped into his path. "Byakuya," was her equally crisp response.

Anger was steadily rising through him, though his face reflected. "Address me by my title, fukutaichou." His voice was soft and vaguely threatening.

She seemed to contemplate her answer before responding easily, "No, I don't think I will, Byakuya."

He resisted the urge to blink. No one defied one of the Kuchiki clan. Or a captain-class.

"I insist." He was fairly certain that his face still expressed no emotion, but she seemed satisfied with her minute scrutiny of it, so he did indulge in a moment's hesitation.

"And if I refuse?" She raised her delicate eyebrows in challenge, eyes blank and unreadable. For some reason, he was struck by the stark difference between her eyes drunk and her unreadable gaze now. He felt a distinctly unidentifiable jolt rush through him, centered around his abdomen as they locked eyes, though only for a few moments.

He did not lick his lips. "I shall inform your captain of your insubordination," was his utterly dry response.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, letting it shake in the wind. She took a step towards him. "I really don't think you will, Byakuya."

He did not ask why, but simply stared at her, defying the illogic of her assumption.

"You've been watching me, you know," she added conversationally.

Byakuya stood silently as she took another step closer.

"Nearly every time I turn around, I catch you turning away. Don't you think that gives me some rights, Byakuya?"

He merely stared, unimpressed.

She suddenly laughed. It was a deep, rather throaty sound, and the smile was positively seductive. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed. I wouldn't believe you anyway." She took another step closer-definitely too close. But he wasn't intimidated by her. Not enough to move, anyhow. She cocked her head to the side, gazing at him evaluatively. Her voice turned low again and Byakuya was certain he was not intended to see the faint smoldering in the depths of her eyes. "Why have you been watching me?"

He almost didn't catch her words, being captivated by her glowing eyes. He wrestled for his control, quirking a brow effortlessly and saying not a word. Still, he couldn't break the locked stare.

"If you don't want to talk, I can easily think of other things to do," she offered, raising her eyebrows at his continued silence. His mouth was suddenly very dry, eyes positively boring into hers now with an unnamed hunger he was having difficulty suppressing. "Would it be so wrong?," she whispered, as if she understood his conflict. She leaned forward daringly, uniform still rather suggestively low cut.

Every single muscle in his body vibrated on tightly corded strings, restraining against the desire to lean forward with her. His face was still terribly composed, though he suspected his eyes might not be quite so impassive.

Abruptly, she leaned back, standing normally. "I don't want my body to convince you, Byakuya. Even if that's what interested you in the first place."

And with those two sentences, Byakuya managed to piece together everything. She may have been drunk, but she wasn't that drunk. She may not have spread rumours, but she remembered the kiss. She knew he was watching her because she'd been putting herself in his visual path. But she wanted more than to be desired. She wasn't below using her body to snare his attention, but she wanted to keep it through other means. She wanted it to mean more than lust.

He narrowed his eyes at her, abandoning his mask in favour of anger. "If you don't want lustful attentions, don't beg for them." He advanced on her menacingly and he could perceive her vague surprise, though it mattered little.

Backing her against a wall, he kissed her, devouring her mouth with his own. He gloried in her taste, this time free of the alcoholic taint and better than ambrosia. Warm and soft, yet hot and melting. Like tendrils curling outward, the pleasure spread in vines. He tangled one hand in her silky waves of hair and the other around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She gasped, a tiny breath of air, against his open mouth and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. The kiss lasted, minutes, hours, days. He doubted either one knew. Only the force that kept one glued to the other.

Until she pushed him off, spinning to the side and very nearly growling at him. "I thought I told you, that wasn't what I wanted. You stole that kiss."

Byakuya did not even bother crossing his arms as he looked at her. "So did you," was his even response.

She blinked, and a slow smile spread across her face. "Oh." Then she laughed, light and free this time. She strode over to stand in front of him. "I'm not sorry I manipulated you. After all, the emotions are still yours. I only offered the opportunity to discover them. Wouldn't have bothered if you hadn't kissed me back."

He looked at her.

Her eyes, somehow always expressing just what she meant to, were soft and oddly vulnerable.

"Rangiku," he said, voice gentle. She took both his hands in hers.

He leaned, and it wasn't so far down, for a very different kiss. This one was all gentleness and taste, rather than rushed passion. Sweetness and light filled with promise.

She was beautiful.

She smiled at him, leaving one hand in his as they walked further through the streets.

"Never do that again."

She laughed.

_.:Byakuya:._

(he's referring to the manipulating him thing.)


End file.
